


an exercise in ignorance

by mayfriend



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, I didn't mean it to be sad but it's kinda sad??, Omega Dick Grayson, Omega Dick Week 2020, Other, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayfriend/pseuds/mayfriend
Summary: Four people who were absolutely certain Dick Grayson was an alpha, until they were proven spectacularly wrong.Barbara lets out a huff of laughter. “Dick’s not an alpha, dad.”Now it’s Jim’s turn to be confused. Are they talking about the same kid? The one that wears leather jackets year round, and has girls following him around like he’s some kind of superstar, and drives that horrendously loud motorcycle?Thatkid? Not an alpha?Sure, Jim’s nose is a tenth as powerful as those of alphas and omegas, but Barb’s nose is just as blunt. He goes by the way people look, the way they act, the way others treat them - he observes, just like he was taught at the academy, and it’s rarely steered him wrong.“He’s... not?”“Dick’s an omega, dad,god,” Barbara rolls her eyes, before slamming the door in his face.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 425
Collections: Omega!Dick Week





	an exercise in ignorance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/gifts).



> Day 4: Free Day
> 
> I'd like to polish this up a bit more, but I'm 27 minutes away from the day being over, so I'm submitting now and I'll clean it up later. All the credit for this idea goes to Quil, who inspired me last night when I had absolutely no idea what to write for my free day :)

**POISON IVY**

* * *

One of the worst kept secrets in Gotham is the Bat’s designation. 

Whilst his brood of child soldiers wear suppressants, the Bat never does and never has - his scent is a powerful thing, his alpha strong enough that it will compel some of her weaker criminals to fall to their knees when he uses his Voice to command them to stop _._ As such, the majority of the long-lasting villains in Gotham are alphas as well, or particularly strong-willed betas who can resist his thrall. He smells of leather, and steel, with a nutty undercurrent that might be almonds, and although many people have attempted to uncover his civilian identity using his distinctive scent, none have succeeded. 

Ivy does not need to know who he is. What he is is enough. 

Her latest arboreal delight is honed specifically for him and his, disabling all alphas it comes into contact with besides herself. She’s proud of it, of the time it took to fine-tune and coax into the fifty-foot glory it is now; around her, civilians and heroes alike are dropping like stones, the remaining betas and omegas running away as fast as they can; it’s pure biology, pure instinct, that means where an alpha like Batman or one of his brood might run toward danger, those of different designations know their best chance at survival is to flee. 

She is smiling as she surveys the downed birds and bats, unconscious or nearly so on the long grass; suppressants might mask your scent from others, but it does not make you any less an alpha underneath. Aside from the Bat, Red Hood, Black Bat and Robin are sprawled on the ground; that’s all of them, except-

Ivy barely moves in time to avoid the escrima stick aimed at the back of her head, turning to see Nightwing, apparently _not_ an alpha after all, running straight for her. She’s surprised, she has to admit; she’s known the first boy wonder since he really _was_ a boy, and has seen him backtalk Batman multiple times over the years, as well as dozens of alpha villains like herself, something she had presumed came from being an alpha himself. A particularly strong beta, she supposes as she shoots a coil of vines at his fast-moving limbs. It is as he’s tearing through the vines that she notices the look on his face; rather than one of concentration or anger, as she was expecting, his primary expression is that of disgust. Indeed, he looks almost unwell. 

Ivy’s mind snaps back to Harley, in her greenhouse, telling her that her new alpha-coded creation stunk like high heaven, plugging her nose so her voice came out nasal. None of Pamela’s beta assistants complained at all, or displayed any awareness of the… less than pleasant scent of the green giant, their stunted noses leaving them ignorant of the aroma, and any alphas that got close enough weren’t exactly conscious enough to remark on the scent. 

But Nightwing. Nightwing’s face is twisted like a man fighting off the urge to retch. 

Nightwing’s not an alpha, like Pamela always thought. The disgust on his face proves that he’s not a beta either. He’s an _omega._ Oh, this is too good. Ivy hadn’t imagined that omega heroes existed, let alone that there had been one under her nose all these years, although she supposes she should’ve imagined considering she’s aware of more than a couple omega villains, although all save Harley operate outside of Gotham. 

The thrill of knowing such a huge and well-hidden secret even softens the blow of landing back in Arkham somewhat. _Somewhat._

* * *

**JIM** **GORDON**

* * *

Jim is not, despite Barbara’s insistence to the contrary, a particularly overbearing father. 

He’s been a cop most of his life, and a cop in Gotham at that; he’s seen some crazy, terrible things and he lives by the motto of ‘always prepared’. No, most other fathers don’t send their daughters to karate classes from the age of four, or teach them how to bust out a tail light if they end up in a car boot, but most other fathers don’t have the kind of history Jim does. 

For Jim, it’s harder as she gets older. Sure, she’s stronger and more capable and insanely clever, and Jim is so proud he could burst, but she’s also a bigger target as she grows into her mother’s beauty, as men - _alphas_ \- start to pay attention when she walks down the street, looking at his little girl like a piece of meat. Gotham’s full of crazies, sure, but it’s also full of more everyday monsters, the kind found all over the world. 

Jim’s seen terrible things. So yeah, he’ll sometimes have a squad car check that Barbara makes it to her friends houses on time, or that she’s got a can of pepper spray in every school bag. He doesn’t _say_ anything to her, besides ‘be safe’ and he thinks that’s pretty laid back, considering. 

But still. Jim is wary of her alpha friends, sometimes, even if he’s ninety-nine percent sure they’re all good kids. It’s the one percent of doubt that niggles at him, that has him tell Barbara to keep her door open, that makes sure each and every one of them sees his gun and badge when they meet him for the first time. Barbara _knows_ his rules, _knows_ that he doesn’t want her alone with any alphas under his roof, but the Grayson boy is over, and the door’s shut. 

He raps on the wood with his knuckles, and can hear his daughter groan from inside. “What?” She yells. He knocks again, until she gets up and opens the door a crack, so he can see her furious expression and not much else. 

“Don’t close your door when your alpha friends are over,” Jim reminds her, firmly. 

Barbara blinks. Blinks again. “Yeah, and?”

"And your door is shut,” Jim says.

To his surprise, Barbara lets out a huff of laughter. “Dick’s not an alpha, dad.”

Now it’s Jim’s turn to be confused. Are they talking about the same kid? The one that wears leather jackets year round, and has girls following him around like he’s some kind of superstar, and drives that horrendously loud motorcycle? _That_ kid? Not an alpha?

Sure, Jim’s nose is a tenth as powerful as those of alphas and omegas, but Barb’s nose is just as blunt. He goes by the way people look, the way they act, the way others treat them - he observes, just like he was taught at the academy, and it’s rarely steered him wrong. 

“He’s... not?” 

“Dick’s an omega, dad, _god,”_ Barbara rolls her eyes, before slamming the door in his face. Jim stares at the wood-grain, and decides it’s high time he had a drink. 

* * *

**SLADE WILSON**

* * *

Slade sees a lot of himself in Robin. He’s made no secret of that; there are enough parallels between them that the boy can draw them as well, despite how furiously he denies their similarities. 

Slade, perhaps, saw a little too much of himself in Robin. 

It’s sloppy, how he’d assumed that Robin was an alpha. Yes, all the signs pointed to it - his position as leader of the Titans, his stubbornness and physical feats and strong will - but there hadn’t been any _proof._ It is inexcusable that Slade allowed himself to believe in something without absolute certainty. He swore it would never happen again. 

But Slade had been so _sure._ And yet, he is so very thankful for his mask as Robin awkwardly changes into Deathstroke’s colours, his previous uniform’s inbuilt suppressors ceasing to function as soon as it was removed from his skin. The boy’s natural scent is- sweet. Almost floral, subtle and tangy. 

It is not the scent of an alpha. It is _certainly_ not the scentlessness of a beta. 

Robin is an omega.

It takes Slade approximately four minutes to get his head around this. The fundamental reasons he took Robin on are the same: he is just as capable as he was before, just as reluctant, and just as much a diamond in the rough. All this does, really, is give Slade more insight into his new apprentice than perhaps even his former teammates have. And after Slade went to all this trouble to get him, it would be a _crime_ to throw him away.

And if Robin reminds him of another omega boy he once he knew- well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

* * *

**HARLEY QUINN**

* * *

Harley’s nose had been itching for almost an hour when she stumbled on him. 

Ever since Ace Chemicals, her senses have been- strange. Sometimes everything is normal, or as normal as anything gets with Mister J, and sometimes everything gets turned up to eleven - the dingy streets of Gotham become oversaturated with colour, she can barely stomach her favourite egg sandwich without hurling, and her nose goes odd. Like now. Like there’s something she can’t-could-shan’t smell, that’s far away and far too close, and as Harley does when this happens, she goes for a walk in the Gotham city smog to clear it.

Joker, too, has had side-effects, beside the obvious. He doesn’t say anything, but Harley watches him, remembers all those big, big books she read in college about abnormal psychology and chemical interactions with secondary gender characteristics and she remembers how Mister J is one of the few people in the world without a confirmed secondary. Not even a beta, just- nothing. It’s like those chemicals wiped him clean. 

Harley doesn’t know if she’s grateful the same didn’t happen to her, or not. Maybe it’d be nice, she thinks, to be out of it. To be above it. No heats and no scents and no knots and no marks and no mates-

She practically trips over him. 

Nightwing’s black costume makes him almost invisible in the dark, only the blue stripe across his chest making him discernable from the rubble around Amusement Mile. He’s scentless, like always, but Harley sneezes, once, twice, thrice. 

“C’mon, Wingding,” Harley says, once she’s sure the sneezing fit has passed. “Watcha doin’ laying around on the job?” 

She knows she should be worried that one of the bats is sniffing around, but honestly, she’s a little more focused on the way Nightwing is barely moving. His chest is rising and falling, and behind the domino mask she can’t see his eyes, but other than that he’s completely still. He hadn’t even flinched when she walked right into him. 

“Hey,” she says in a stage whisper, before reaching down to poke him in the cheek. _“Hey.”_

She should get Mister J. He’d be so _happy._ But Harley feels weird, and not just in her nose anymore. 

Her hand’s shaking as she reaches down and searches for something she really, really doesn’t want to find on Nightwing’s neck. “Ungh,” the prone hero on the ground groans as she finds two engorged scent glands on either side of his neck.

“Balls,” Harley says with finality. 

Harley Quinn was many things, after Ace Chemicals. But she was still an omega, like Harleen Quinzel had been, and neither Harleen or Harley was gonna leave an omega in heat out in the middle of Gotham for anybody to find. Especially not one that’s so clearly been drugged out of his mind.

“You know, Blue, you’re _real_ lucky that I was the one that found ya,” Harley tells Nightwing’s body as she pats him down, “What was it, someone trying to get lucky? Stray hit? Somebody just threw a buncha needles at you til one stuck? You got away, but why’d you come here? You forget how to get home? Poor birdie,” she chatters quietly to fill the eerie silence, until finally her fingers catch on a communicator of some kind. 

“Hey, Batsy, you there?” she whispers into it, hoping against hope that Joker doesn’t suddenly notice she’s been gone an awful long time. 

A crackle. “-arley?” 

It’s not the Bat, but one of his birds. Good enough, she supposes. “That’s me, sweetie. Your bluebird isn’t up to much right now, and me-thinks he needs a designated driver to get him home safe. I’d offer, but I’m pretty sure my license ran out last month, whoopsie-”

“Nightwing? Where have you taken Nightwing, Quinn?” Another voice, younger and angrier, comes on. Harley just manages to stop herself from cooing. She’s a Gothamite to the core, alright, she loves her a little Robin, even when he sounds like he’s about to threaten to disembowel her with a spoon. “If you’ve harmed him-”

“Kiddo, don’t take this the wrong way,” Harley says, “but your negotiating skills need a little work. If this was a hostage situation, I would _not_ want to give you your big bro back. Luckily, it ain’t; consider this a dry run of sorts. Practice makes perfect and all that. Now, will somebody come and get him or am I gonna have to stash him under the pier?”

A buzz of static. A long beat. 

“I’m on my way,” the Bat finally makes his entrance, the big drama queen. “Quinn, what is Nightwing’s status?” 

“He’s, uh, pretty out of it,” She says, looking at him, “Like, totally. I think he somehow got stabbed with a heat inducer, or five, cause he is just _out._ Also, my nose itches, but that might not mean anything. I think it’s hayfever, you know. I used to have it as a kid, and I know it’s night, but you _never know_ when that pesky, pesky pollen is gonna strike-”

“Keep monitoring him,” the Bat cut her off, which, _rude._ “If anything about his condition changes, inform me immediately.”

“Bossy,” she mutters, but obeys. She’s a goddamn _doctor,_ dammit. Maybe not this kind of doctor, per se, but she is a doctor and that’s got to count for _something._ “Your pack really cares for you, huh?” She says to Nightwing. “That’s nice. All- heroic. Course they do. You’re good people, even if you have _serious_ anger management issues. Or maybe that’s just your dad. Is he your dad? I get a dad vibe, but hey, I ain’t had much luck with dads-”

She’s still talking when the Batmobile pulls up, almost silently. It appears the Bat figured out that maybe roaring into Joker’s hideout might not be super smart when Nightwing’s kind of a dead weight. 

The hand off, if it can be called that, is swift. Harley scoots away from Nightwing as the Bat leans down to pick him up, and despite the way something in the back of Harley’s head tells her how _proud_ Joker would be if she brought him the Bat all by her lonesome, with an added bonus bird, she pushes it down. She ain’t a monster. 

“Harley.” 

She starts, looking up at Batman’s unreadable face. For a second, she thinks he’s gonna arrest her; she’s certainly got enough warrants out on her head. But he just says: “Thank you.”

And then he’s gone. 

Huh. Weird. At least her nose isn’t itching anymore. 

She’s been outside for almost an hour by the time she makes it back in. Joker, of course, hadn’t even noticed she’d left.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Harley kinda hogged this. That's just Harley, though. 
> 
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/_mayfriend_) and on [tumblr](http://mayfriend.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
